he won't stop
by swallowedminds
Summary: One shot. If Johanna died in season 3. "Back in her apartment, he sees everything is the same as it was two weeks ago. Same mess. Same dishes. Same clothes he peeled her out of laying across the chair."


_A/N: If Johanna died in season 3. Around 3x13. Josh is in Haiti. Beckett is a lawyer. One shot._

 _Not really plot-driven, just something that clawed its way out of me._

* * *

This is one of the few times in his life that he doesn't have the words, and every time he sees her he dies a little more inside. There's nothing he can do, nothing he can say. All he does is sit and stare. At her. At the blank expression she sports daily, at the lack of movement she makes curled up on her couch. She claims " _I'm fine"_ as if it's her middle name, and it's those words that shoot daggers through his chest, that make the corner of his eyes sting. Because he doesn't know what to do with that. _I'm fine._ What does that even mean at a time like this?

All he can do is stare. And what good is that? He's useless, a useless friend. This is what friends are here for and when he's supposed to excel at his job, he fails. He flops. He stares.

He found her standing outside her apartment building this morning, getting hounded on by the rain, eyes lost in the galaxy of melancholy of the cloudy, grey sky.

"I wanted to watch the sunrise," she'd said.

"But it's raining."

"I didn't notice it."

"Kate," he mumbles her name now, lip trembling, fighting the tears pounding against his lids. Back in her apartment, he sees everything is the same as it was two weeks ago. Same mess. Same dishes. Same clothes he peeled her out of laying across the chair.

"Huh?" she asks, voice normal, face still but eyebrows raised in curiosity at his voice. "What's up, Castle?"

"I just...I don't know."

"You don't know?" she laughs. "It's hard to believe you're at a loss for words, Castle." She stands from the couch to join him in the kitchen. "Just say it."

Yeah, he wants to. He so so wants to, but what right does he have to these feelings? How can he articulate these emotions when they don't properly belong to him?

"Hello? Castle? What's up?"

"I just wanna know what you're thinking."

"Hmm." Her fingers race through the curled tresses of her hair as she sits on the stool next to him. "I'm thinking about how we're going to solve her case."

It's been two weeks and she hasn't taken a day off of work. Been closing court cases left and right, back and forth talking to her police contacts. To anyone else she'd seem normal, like she's taken everything in stride, is strong enough to get through this without needing much space. But he sees through her.

Her heart is aching. Her soul is tearing apart tendon by tendon. And he can hear it. At night when they're working late in the precinct. When the clock strikes midnight, when another day has passed, she shrivels more inside. She's not the same Kate Beckett that he once knew. How does no one else see it?

She's… smaller.

"That's not what I mean," he shakes his head, "and you know it."

He's always weary about calling her out on her shit, but if he doesn't no one else will, not even Josh. He's still in Haiti, has only called a few times to check on his girlfriend.

"Well, that's all I _am_ thinking."

"Beckett."

"What? Are you upset that I'm not thinking about what you _want_ me to be thinking about?"

"No, I just want you to talk to me."

"Then let's talk about the case. The police may have given up on solving her murder, but I'm not."

He sighs and swivels his chair to face forward. It's been two weeks. And she hasn't said a word.

He's constantly thinking about it, like a song on repeat. And every day he grows angrier. He hates himself for it.

"So, you think Joe is being framed?" he asks, eyes darting to meet hers.

One shoulder inches up to her neck and she flips her hair to meet his gaze. "Possibly, but I don't know, all the evidence points to him. But I think something else is going on."

He's not listening, is too busy wrapped up in his own thoughts to theorize.

"What are _you_ thinking about?" she asks, head resting on her fist as she gazes at him.

"Do you really need to ask that question?"

"Why are _you_ thinking about it so much? It didn't happen to you."

 _But it happened to you,_ he wants to say. _And I love you._

She sighs and moves to the other side of the room, curls back up on the couch as if it's her best friend, as if _that_ spot contains all the answers she seeks, could possibly take the pain away.

"I just want you to talk to me, I need to know what I can do to—"

"You can't!" She takes a deep breath before continuing. "Rick, I understand where you're coming from, but there's nothing you can do."

His heart stops, his lungs inflate, tears threaten the rim of his lids but he tries to keep his cool. Tries not to let on how those words make him feel.

"She's dead. It's that simple. She's dead, I'm fine, and yeah there will be bad days, but there's nothing you can do to help me."

All he can do is nod, but he craves to touch her, to soothe her. Can't his arms be the healing balm she needs, even if only for a moment? His fingers itch to comb through her hair, arms desperate to wrap around her small frame, to have her close to his heart. But he just sits. And stares.

Maybe there is nothing he can do, but that doesn't mean he's not going to try.

"Come here," she says, hand touching the spot next to her on the couch. It takes every ounce of control he has not to touch her. "I know you wanna help, I do. And I appreciate it, but," her eyes focus in on her trembling hands. "You can't bring her back."

He would trade his soul to give her one more moment with her mother. One last laugh. One last goodbye.

"And that's something you have to accept." He nods, for her sake, but he won't stop trying. He won't stop asking; he won't stop trying to make her laugh. He won't stop, he wants to be here with her through the good and the bad days.

"Castle?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you," she mouths, pushing her hair back.

He musters up a smile. "Always, Kate." What else can he say? He's sorry? She's gotten enough I'm sorry's to last a lifetime. He could tell her how angry he is, that of all people she had to lose the one person she needed most in this world, that he's angry all the time, but what right does he have to be angry. He hurts for her, but she doesn't need him to.

"Let's solve this case, yes?"

He takes a breath. He's here and that has to mean something. "Yes. I'll make the coffee."


End file.
